


Failed Attempt

by Valentined



Series: Pieces of Valentine [3]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Body Horror, Breakup, Hojo is here in spirit as an eternal cockblock, Hurt No Comfort, I love Reeve by the way, Interrupted Blowjobs, M/M, No he's not, VINCENT IS NOT A GOOD OPTION, are they even TOGETHER?, because of shit like THIS, boy has OPTIONS, but like, i guess, is Vincent ever WITH anyone?, no, plot with a side of porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23025109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valentined/pseuds/Valentined
Summary: Limit breaks are triggered by a buildup of adrenaline and other endorphins in the body, causing a temporary shift in brain chemistry. For Vincent, this includes a shift in physiology. Whether he wants it or not.(AKA the fic where Hojo continues to cockblock Vincent from beyond the grave.)
Relationships: Reeve Tuesti/Vincent Valentine
Series: Pieces of Valentine [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1485986
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	Failed Attempt

It hadn't started with a date, not really. Neither of them were really the dating type, and being seen out in public together socially could be a PR disaster waiting to happen, there was no telling what a possible romantic interlude could do to the public opinion. There were reputations at stake—one as good as it could be considering his position, one growing increasingly apprehensive as information about his “condition” reached the masses.

Instead, Vincent had been helping Reeve with some reports from SciMed late into the evening and, after hours of banter and dramatic readings, Reeve pulled out the liquor. Vincent couldn't get intoxicated, of course, either because dead men held liquor as well as secrets or because of his other physiological enhancements. Reeve had no such issue, but he nursed his own drinks just enough to take the edge off his trepidation, enough to add some fuel to his determination.

And now here they were, Vincent all but pinned against the wall with his fly undone, pants pushed down his hips just enough, and his dick in Reeve’s mouth. His breathing, usually rare and quiet enough to be imperceptible, rasped heavy in the air. 

Reeve swallowed and hummed, tearing a sort of animalistic rumble from somewhere between Vincent's overfull chest and his ruined throat. The noise was almost familiar, although Reeve couldn't place from where—it reminded him of his time in the field, synced up with Cait Sith to see and hear all things Avalanche. It wasn't exactly the time to be reminiscing about the Crisis, regardless.

But the growl was only the start of it. Reeve had to shift when Vincent whined—another noise reminiscent of _something_ , like a very large and very distressed canid—and something was suddenly wrong with one of the older man's legs. 

“Reeve,” Vincent growled, “Reeve, I can't—”

The pop of a joint in his right leg changing structure made him break off with a hiss, the reverberation rattling up through him. He gave another of those heavy, animalistic whines.

The noises made Reeve think of Galian, that was it.

However, Reeve didn't stop. If anything he grew more insistent, sucking and bobbing his head, Vincent's good hand still fisted in his dark hair. They could push through this, as long as Vincent didn't hit one of the more serious shapeshifts—his skull and spine we're usually a better gauge—they could keep going.

Vincent tugged at Reeve's hair with obvious care, struggling against rapidly hardening muscles in his limbs even as he was forced to shift the weight on his right leg to his toes, bones shifting to pull his ankle and heel up higher. He kept the leg bent, trying to maintain a level stance for Reeve's benefit as much as his own.

Reeve gave a low, reassuring hum as he almost pulled loose, then immediately took the length as far down his throat as he could in a single smooth motion.

The coil of pleasure that tightened in Vincent's belly was joined by a sort of cracking, tearing sound, quick as a whip crack.

Vincent went instantly rigid, breath catching in his throat, and Reeve finally pulled back completely to look up at him.

He let go of Reeve's hair, hands shaking as he reached up to touch the curved black spike protruding from the left side of his forehead, just on his hairline. There was another on the right side, albeit shorter and not yet pulled up into a backward arc, reaching up to curve over his head.

Now that he was looking, Reeve could see that Vincent's eyes were a bright burnished gold instead of their customary red; there were thin lines of dark fur trailing their way up Vincent's arms, the sides of his face, tufted at his now pointed ears.

Vincent wrapped his hand, tipped in dark claws, around the larger of the two horns on his head. He gripped and, with a frustrated noise somewhere between a snarl and sob, Vincent pulled at the unwelcome protrusion with a white-knuckled grip.

“Vincent—” Reeve surged up to his feet, talking hold of Vincent's hand and attempting to pry it loose. He absolutely had the physical strength to disfigure himself, if one could call it that in this situation, and Reeve couldn’t allow that to happen. “Vince, stop it, you can't—”

“No, I can't,” he replied in a rumble that wasn’t deep enough not to crack. He shook his head, giving another hard tug and choking back an automatic yelp. “I'm sorry, I’m sorry, I just—I _can't_.”

Before Reeve could grasp what he meant, Vincent had pulled away and ducked into the nearby bathroom. The lock clicked as immediately as the shower started running, the beat of falling water almost enough to drown out the continued sounds of frustration.

Reeve sighed and sunk back down to sit on the floor, turning after a moment to lean his back against the wall. He ran a hand through his hair with a long, tired sigh.

Was this the fifth or sixth time? He couldn't remember. It was always such a fiasco in the end. As exhausted as he was by the apparently inevitable results, he knew that Vincent had it so much worse. If things with Vincent didn't work out, it wasn't as if Reeve didn't have other options. He wasn't an unattractive man, after all. Even at his age he was nothing if not highly sought after. He could sate his physical appetites elsewhere. Vincent didn't have that option. 

He didn't seem to have any options at all.

They had gotten further this time than any other, but this time was also so much worse. Vincent usually made him stop when he lost the capacity to make human sounds, or when his skeleton started to shift. Reeve usually let him. This time, though, this time he had been so sure they could push through it. Vincent had been doing so well, and it had been months since the last time. Everything was fine.

Maybe it really was no use. Maybe Vincent really _couldn't_ —not without turning into something, anyway, and neither of them wanted that.

In the end, Vincent stayed in the shower for over an hour. Reeve tidied up the room, hung Vincent's coat on the rack by the door, made some tea to calm himself down and put away the liquor. By the time Vincent had pulled himself together enough to turn off the shower, no one would have known they were doing anything in here other than work.

Vincent came to the doorway utterly soaked; the lack of steam from inside the bathroom confirmed that he had buffeted himself with cold water only. He just looked at Reeve for a second before starting to croak out an apology. 

Reeve cut him off. “This is going to take all night at this rate,” he said casually, changing the page on another file without looking up. “I think we'll have to finish at headquarters on Monday.’

Vincent’s mouth worked silently for a moment, emotions flashing over his features in rapid succession. Confusion, realization, a devastated level of hurt—and then he pulled it all in and his expression evened. His eyebrows still twitched slightly, the muscle in his jaw was still tense, the glow in his eyes too bright for such a level facade. 

His voice still trembled when he replied, “I...suppose so.”

“So I'll see you then?” Reeve looked at him this time, eyebrows raised. It was a question, but it was also a request. Vincent needed to go home. There was nothing for him here, not tonight.

Vincent nodded, moving without another word. He took his coat, pulled it on and stepped out into the night, closing the door behind him. 

Heaving another sigh, Reeve tossed the file onto the coffee table and finished his tea. His throat felt tight, his head hurt. He needed to give this up—they both did, for Vincent’s sake more than anything. He had a feeling that Vincent would never be stable enough, never be _human_ enough to keep it together as long as he needed to for this. It broke his heart, but it would be best to just let him go for good. It couldn't be emotionally healthy for Vincent to keep trying, getting so close after so long, only to have what he was— _whatever_ he was—tear it away from him.

Reeve locked the door, turned off the lights and went to bed.

Vincent walked home alone.


End file.
